


Tents

by rhymenoceros



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymenoceros/pseuds/rhymenoceros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dorian pavus + very low temperatures + tent sharing with big qunari man</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [khazadspoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/khazadspoon/gifts).



> a short fic i wrote for a friend as thanks for all the great stuff they write me
> 
> it didn't really have a title on tumblr, thus why it's so lame here
> 
> the first thing i've written in a very long time and the first dragon age thing too, hurrah

Nights like this had the rather traitorous thought coming to Dorian’s mind of why he’d ventured this far south. It wasn't that he regretted leaving Tevinter, not in the slightest, but a king size bed with silk sheets in Minrathous didn’t really compare to hard, rocky ground in the Emprise du Lion. The groundsheet and bed mat hardly cushioned his slumber, he thought bitterly as he rolled again, followed by a wave of shivers. Moving, unfortunately, seemed to remind his body of how cold it was. The wind howled in a way that could only remind Dorian of the demons screaming as they were torn away from this world and back into the Fade, which had him shivering for a whole different reason. He wondered again why he’d agreed to come on this particular mission, and tried not to think about Skyhold’s cosy library, or his bed. He missed beds.

Matters weren't helped by his tent buddy. When the Inquisitor had first announced they would be doubling up, and then that he and Sera would be sharing, Dorian had almost audibly groaned. The Iron Bull smelled bad enough outside, in the wind and open air! How on earth was he expected to  _breathe_ when stuck inside a tiny fabric prison with the giant man? He’d almost complained, even opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden ambush by a small unit of red templars derailed the conversation and Dorian had no luck bringing it up with the Inquisitor before it was time to camp. So, here he was, freezing and uncomfortable and…well, mainly those things. He seemed to have learnt how to ignore the smell, at least. He shivered again, shuddery breath fogging out of his lips, and he almost grunted in frustration. Of course he could see his breath inside the tent. Of  _course_ he could. It would probably turn to ice before his eyes were it to get any colder, if that were possible. Was it possible? Probably was, in the south.

He was snapped out of this train of thought by an irritated huff from behind him, “Sorry to interrupt your obnoxious shivering, but could you please keep it down? I'm trying to sleep.”

"I'm terribly sorry, is my freezing to death bothering you?"

"Somewhat. Could you at the very least stop mumbling? And no, your breath can’t turn to ice in natural weather."

Dorian pursed his lips, ignoring the embarrassment from his thoughts having apparently not just been thoughts after all, “I know that. I’ll be quiet. Sorry.”

The mage felt that creeping feeling on the back of his neck that usually meant he was being looked at, and tried not to squirm in the silence following his words. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like minutes had passed before Bull spoke again, “You’re really not doing well here, are you?”

"I beg your pardon?" Dorian responded sharply, his cold, sleepy brain already trying to come up with cutting responses about why, actually, he  _did_ deserve to be in the Inquisition, and he was doing just  _fine_ thank you very much, and—

"Barely one quip and you yielded. That’s unlike you, Vint. Is the cold really so bad?" Dorian was unsure how to respond, at first. For one thing, his brain was sluggish from lack of both sleep and high temperatures, and for another, that almost sounded like genuine concern. From The Iron Bull, no less. He sniffed, and curled up a little tighter underneath his far-too-thin blanket.

"I am unused to such low temperatures. That is all." He closed his eyes and stubbornly thought of warm things in a vain attempt to heat himself up. Sunny beaches, crackling hearths, thick blankets…he violently shivered again, teeth practically chattering. There was another sort of annoyed snort from the qunari, but before Dorian could snap that he could hardly help being cold, a strong arm was suddenly around his waist and pulling him over. He spluttered out a, "what are you—" as Bull tugged him to his side, arm encompassing his body and holding him close.

"Since you’re not going to stop whining and shivering,” Bull said by way of explanation, arranging the blankets and settling back down into a lying position. Dorian weakly struggled at first, more out of principle than anything, but stopped when he realised just how warm the qunari was. “Maker, you’re like a bloody furnace,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, spreading his hands over grey skin, surprisingly smooth - at least here - and radiating warmth.

A deep chuckle made him realise he was basically stroking Bull’s pectoral muscle, and he quickly withdrew his hands and cleared his throat. “Anything’s preferable to freezing to death in my sleep, I suppose,” he mumbled, shifting into a comfortable position that had as much contact with Bull as possible - only for the warmth, of course. And if he happened to hook his leg over Bull’s, well, that was only because it was more comfortable that way. And maybe he was resting his cheek on the giant’s chest, but that was simply for lack of a pillow. Bull rolled his eye and shook his head ever so slightly, amused smile lifting his lips, “If you drool on me, I'm not doing this again.”

“I do not  _drool_.”

Bull only responded with another chuckle. Despite the cacophonous, relentless wind assaulting their tent, Dorian could feel himself already drifting. The last thought he had before slipping into a deep sleep was that maybe, just maybe, Bull wasn't the worst tent partner he could be stuck with. 


End file.
